The biggest worry of all.

I wiped out while running over a week ago. I stumbled like a drunk for no reason and fell on my right side, and landed on the northbound lane of Hampton St. stretched out in the middle of the night. Blood dripped from my knee all the way down to my ankle. I thought I banged one tooth on the pavement even though that was impossible. Either I smashed all my teeth on the pavement or none. I got up and finished running. I took a shower and put band-aids on two knee cuts.

The next day, my knee was swollen. I wondered out loud if I had suffered worse injury. That night I did an epic leg and abs workout. A giant set that exhausted my legs before I finished each giant set with major-league front squats. I lost count of sets and reps. I was pissed off during the entire workout – pissed off at myself for being a whiner about my knee. It was one of my top 5 leg workouts of all-time, better than 20-30 years ago. And I wasn’t done. I ran for 40 minutes to prove there was not a thing wrong with me.

The next day, my right lat muscle was aching. It told three family members, “Man, I’ve never pulled a lat muscle in 43 years of working out. What do you think it is?” My wife said, “You probably fell on it when you wiped out running.” That night I did an epic chest and abs workout. Honestly, I don’t know why I say ‘epic’ because I don’t waste workouts. ‘Epic’ is redundant. Each one of my workout is epic. I was pissed off during the entire workout for being a whiner all day about my lat and my knee. Almost broke a personal best. Then I ran.

The next day, I stared at one piece of bread. I stopped eating bread to get cut 10 years ago because I’m purebred/pure-bread Italian. I’m addicted to bread. Bread is anabolic. All my personal best lifts happened during my bread-addiction era. I haven’t broken one personal best since I cut bread out cold turkey. Almost. I still have relapses. That’s why I stared at the single slice like it was poison. I ate it. The world didn’t end. I had an epic back and core workout that night. Lost count of sets and reps. Used heavier weight than I did 30 years ago. Then I ran.

The next day my wife bought me gluten-free brownies. I ate a lot of them. The world didn’t end. I had an epic arms and core workout. Lost count of sets and reps. One of the top ten pumps I’ve had in over four decades of working out. Then I ran.

The next day I stared at bananas and strawberries. I thought, “Man, I wonder if this fruit will make me fat?” I debated whether or not to eat them. I did. All day. The world didn’t end. I had an epic shoulder and abs workout. One of the top ten pumps in over four decades. Then I ran.

I ran out of tomatoes the next day. I rushed to the grocery store because I read a study last year that eating tomatoes prevents heart disease. Now I eat tomatoes every single day of my life because my father died of heart problems. Seriously, that night I had another epic leg and ab workout. I was pissed off at what an asshole I was wasting time off my life worrying.

The next day, two American college football coaches called and asked to play my Niagara X-men team in late October and early November. I actually said, and I quote, “It’ll depend on gas prices. Travel is expensive.” What an embarrassment. Living life in fear of gas prices. No joke, my chest workout that night was as fierce as it gets. Not bragging but I’d like to see who could have kept up to giant sets that were the equivalent of a high-speed no-huddle. The only rest I take between sets is to change weight. Otherwise I don’t fuck around. I debated whether or not to say “fuck around” because I was worried it might offend readers and make me look like an asshole. But the truth is that my biggest workout motivation is an inner voice that says, ‘DON’T FUCK AROUND.” Why should I worry about what people will think. It’s the truth and it works out.

Here’s my point. The biggest worry in life is letting life pass by while worrying. I’ve decided to include this in my next book that I decided to start writing this afternoon because I got pissed off at myself for worrying about book sales.